Mourning
by mr-and-mrs-bates
Summary: This is a one shot exploring the opening scenes of episode 4.5 when Anna is preparing herself for the day ahead of her. I wanted to explore her thoughts and feelings in the weeks after the attack, and the trepidation she must have felt every morning when she wondered if John would still be waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her.


_**A/N: Warning! This is probably the saddest piece I have ever written. There is some mention of the attack, but no details. And this is one of the first times I tried writing so much from Anna's point of view. This was in response to a piece by my dear friend awesomegreentie who wrote John's take on Anna moving back to the abbey in season 4 episode 5. I wanted to explore what Anna was thinking and feeling without her husband. I have to thank my lovely friend Lemacd for being my beta on this story. I appreciate any and all feedback I get on this.**_

Anna knew without even looking at the clock what time it was. She would have to start getting up and getting ready in another half hour. Anna knew because she had barely been able to sleep that night, same as every night since the concert. Every evening she went back to the boot room and scrubbed and shined each boot until there wasn't a speck of dirt on them. Anna couldn't explain why she was drawn back to that room; it was somehow therapeutic and also her penance. Something had to be cleaned. Something always needed to be done in order to distract her mind. One time she polished a set of boots for so long her skin cracked and began to bleed. Instead of stopping she just kept going in hopes that this would tire her out.

Anna couldn't even escape her torment in her sleep, in fact most of the time her turmoil was enhanced because everything was horribly exaggerated in her nightmares. Sometimes John would look at her with utter disgust when he found out what really happened. Other times she'd return to their empty cottage and go running up to the abbey only to find out that John had left without telling her. But the worst one is when John is led away in handcuffs again and she watches him hang for murdering Mr. Green. The first time she had that dream she woke up in a cold sweat barely made it to wash basin in time to vomit. Though barely anything came up except for bile, Anna hadn't been able to stomach much more than a piece of toast and some soup each day since Lord Gillingham's valet came to visit.

As she lay in her old bedroom in the attics all she could do was replay the events of that day and wonder why she hadn't heeded John's warning about Mr. Green, and why she hadn't seen it as more than a jealous lover's call. Why didn't she always have to give people the benefit of the doubt? Why did she have to see the best in everyone? After everything that happened with her step father, why hadn't she seen the signs that Mr. Green was more than what he seemed?

There was something different about him, something wild, new, and intriguing. He seemed worldly somehow with his many stories; probably tall tales meant to lure his audience in. She rolled her eyes. She supposed it wasn't entirely her fault, after all everyone seemed to have fallen under his spell. Even Edna was a little more than chummy with him when they played that game of Racing Demon. Oh God. That was when John had come in looking a little more than upset. She had been embarrassed by the way he admonished her infront of everyone. And how dare he accuse her of not caring enough for Mrs. Patmore. The whole time Green had been there her husband had sulked in the corner of the servants hall in his rocking chair despite all her reassurances in private that he was the only man for her. Anna was so cross with him that her head was practically screaming in pain when they arrived at the concert.

That damn concert. Why hadn't she just insisted that John come with her to the kitchen? Or better still why didn't she suggest they go to their courtyard or even to the cottage to work things out? Their cottage. Her heart ached at the thought of how lonely and empty their home must be right now for her poor husband. Anna had only gone back there once the night of the incident. She tried to put on a brave face and pretend as if nothing had happened, but Anna had felt so dirty and tainted that she couldn't handle it. Especially when John had arrived home and tried to apologize to her for his behavior early. As his words washed over her, Anna could feel the tears building. She swallowed hard to keep herself from crying and pulled her blankets more tightly around her with her back still facing him. Anna knew she couldn't fool her husband into thinking she was asleep, so instead she feigned anger. "I'm tired," was all she managed to get out without her voice cracking under the strain of emotion. Her body ached terribly and at least without the light on in their bedroom John wouldn't be able to see the physical damage that monster had done to her.

It was then she came to the conclusion she couldn't stay in their home anymore. She felt trapped in the shell of a life that once held so much promise, but it felt hollow now. Everything in their house held a memory of the life they once led. There was the settee they broke the first time they visited their home. John's chair near the fire where he usually sat to relieve the strain of his injured leg, and where Anna would often join him to read books. Their walls that were freshly painted after he came back to her from prison. The wedding photo of them on the mantle, from the happiest day of their lives felt so far away now. And then there was their bed where Anna had some of the best sleep of her life, even when she had to wake up early. She could go to bed knowing John's arms were wrapped around her, sharing his warmth, his hairy chest pressed sweetly up against her. Their bed where they had spent so much time talking of their dreams to own a bed and breakfast by the sea, and making love, and working to build their family. All of it was gone now. There would be no life away from the abbey that they could dictate instead of a gong. There would be no babies that favored their father's features. And there would be no growing old with her soulmate.

Telling him she wouldn't be returning home had been the hardest thing, especially when she was certain he saw through her lie that it was so that she could attend to Lady Mary and Lady Grantham. A job that she had easily juggled many times before. Still he accepted her excuse dutifully, and that tore her up more than ever. The fact that he was so eager to please. He would have gladly let her sleep in a place that was not their bed or their home just to keep her happy.

Weeks later the bruises had finally faded, the fat lip had gone down, the cut above her eye had healed. There was still some soreness down there but she daren't see a doctor. Anna wouldn't let anyone come near her again, especially not a man. Not even one as kind as Doctor Clarkson. It seemed the only scars that failed to heal were those left on her mind and in her heart. She no longer felt in control of anything, like a stranger in her skin. She didn't even recognize the Anna she saw in the mirror anymore There was barely a shadow of the old Anna still lurking about. She looked smaller somehow, though she supposed she always had been. But Anna had always carried herself as if she were taller in stature, her confidence and sense of purpose made her feel a foot taller. Now she looked frail, she was practically swimming in her lady's maids uniform, and when she spoke it was in a thin, meek voice. There were still bags under her eyes, but she suspected those would not go away for some time. And powder could only do so much to hide the haunted look about her. Maybe things would get easier once John had finally given up his quest to win her back.

As she thought of her husband she realized she would need to get up and start getting ready for the day. No doubt John would be waiting for her, as he had done every morning, like a loyal dog at the base of the stairs leading to the servants. Anna had to look presentable, or at least look and act the way she always had. It was not an easy thing to do. Nowadays Anna could seldom remember what she used to be like. Being her old self meant being cheerful (which she seldom was) and being social (which she could barely muster). As she swept her hair back into a perfect loose bun Anna felt her stomach begin to tighten. Being near her husband had become a mixed bag of emotions for Anna. Partly from the anticipation of seeing her husband who she missed dearly; she had to know if he still held a place for her in his heart. Every time she caught a glimpse of him at the bottom of the stairs her heart skipped a beat, knowing he still loved her after all and still care. But other times she found herself gutted to see him staring back at her with his warm, hazel eyes. It meant she had to go through another day of brushing him off, another day of lying to him, and another day of breaking his heart. If he wouldn't leave, maybe it was she that would have to vanish into the night. No that wouldn't work. He'd spend his dying days looking for her. Then maybe she would just have to end it all.

Anna shook those thoughts from her head as she began applying powder to her cheeks. Whenever she got ready all she could think of was John. She remembered how when they were in their cottage he would always be an early riser, up before the sun. And so he was often ready long before she even woke up. He usually met her with a kiss and a cup of tea. The perfect way to be greeted each morning. And as she got ready for the day's work he would sit on their bed admiring his wife's back side and casting smiles at her reflection in the mirror causing her to blush. Those days were no more. And she longed for them more than ever.

Heading down the stairs she steeled herself for what awaited her. She reminded herself that she must not break down in front of him. Must not break down in front of anyone, lest they suspect that something more was bothering her. And though the facade she portrayed gave no indication of excitement to be reunited with her husband, in her mind her prayers repeated over and over, "Let him be there." He could not know how much this simple gesture meant to her, and she'd never be able to tell him. But it meant more to her than even the most passionate kiss they had ever shared.

As she descended the final set of stairs she heard the familiar tap of a cane against the cobblestone in the servants' hall. Her heart clenched in her chest, she wouldn't allow herself to get excited, even if internally, until she knew for certain it was him. There was the large, broad frame. There was the dark hair and freshly shaved face. Even though she could tell he had barely slept and was falling apart inside, he had still taken the time to look his best for her. He looked just as lost and alone as she did. She wanted to run to him at full speed and leap from the steps into his arms. Anna gripped tightly to the stair case railing. She wanted to engulf him with kisses and run her fingers through his hair. Anna wanted him to hold her tightly like he used to and never let go. But it was not to be. This would have to be all they could share for now.

Her words bit coldly at him as she said, "I don't know why you always wait for me. There's no need." Deep down she knew why he still waited.

"Because I want to be the first to greet you every morning."

"Well, as I said, there's no need," she tried her best to remain firm on the matter. Keeping him at a distance would be the thing that saved him from a trip to prison and the hangman's noose.

"There's...There's every need, and I will keep it up until you explain to me what has gone wrong between us," he said taking his time emphasize the importance behind his words.

But that was just it there was nothing wrong between them. The wrong lay with her, she was the problem. She was the one no longer worthy of being with him. That snake had ruined her, spoiled her.

"Explain what?" she replied sounding slightly irritated. Anna hated these interactions more than anything. They were nothing like the conversations she once shared with her husband. So uncaring and without a sense of warmth. Even in private corridors they had always found a way to touch one another with the simplest of grazes, or holding of hands and now Anna could scarcely remember what it felt like to have that small reassurance throughout the day. Not for lack of trying by John of course. She avoided him like the plague Whenever he began questioning her on the subject something in the back of her mind flipped like a switch and told her to run, put her defenses up, and be on alert. She couldn't help it. No matter how many times she reminded herself that this was John. Her loving and adoring husband. He would never hurt her, and never had. Still in his presence she couldn't help but feel small and threatened.

"My life is perfect and then in the space of one day, it is nothing. To me, that requires an explanation," he managed to answer back softly, and patiently.

He wasn't wrong, she thought to herself. It did require an explanation. But not one she could give to him. And it wasn't fair. None of this was fair.

The reason for their quarrel may have been a mystery to everyone, but all of their coworkers were still very much aware that Anna and John had not returned home together in sometime. Unfortunately in a place like this, one was not afforded much privacy during working hours.

Before she could say anything more they were interrupted by Mrs. Baxter inquiring about where she could put her sewing machine. Anna felt exposed with the intrusion of the lady's maid, but John managed a friendly smile for Mrs. Baxter. He quickly addressed the question, sending the new lady's maid off on her way. When John was certain their conversation would go no further, he followed it up with some small talk about the new lady's maid for Lady Grantham. "What do you make of her?"

Deep down Anna could not have cared less about the new lady's maid. She wanted to know how John was fairing. Was he eating? He looked like he had lost weight in the last few weeks. Was he sleeping? He didn't look it, some days he looked more exhausted than she did. No doubt he spent most evenings blaming himself and being self deprecating, thinking he wasn't worthy of her anymore when nothing could be further from the truth. Was he ever going to get his haircut? She had always been the one to do it for him at home. The same went for their laundry, if Anna looked closely enough she could spot some dirt around the collar. He wouldn't dare bring his laundry to the abbey to be done for fear that people would inquire more than they already were. Was he taking care of their garden still? Not that they ever really had the time for it to begin with, but John always tried to get her favorite flowers to grow under their kitchen window. But she knew if they ventured into that territory she'd turn into a hysterical, blubbering mess in the servants hall.

"I think she's nice."

"Which prompts me to wonder what she sees in our friend Thomas," John quipped. Normally the comment would have elicited a smile from her face and the two would have shared a laugh but not anymore.

Instead she made small talk back, "You know the old saying: there's nowt so queer as folk."

John's lips pursed together and his eyes fixated on her searching for the deeper meaning behind her words. There was something very cryptic in the phrase. Sometimes people do odd things for reasons that can't be explained. Much like his wife's behavior. He wouldn't be deterred and wouldn't give up on her. If Anna wouldn't give him an explanation he'd go to the one woman in this house that his wife seemed to have no problem still speaking to.

Just then Anna quickly brushed past her husband to sit down on the opposite side of the servants table, to push her oatmeal around in a bowl, of which she had no intention of eating. It was better this way. John didn't know it. But she was doing what was best for him. Better a broken heart, than a broken neck.


End file.
